


Sick Leave

by snuckybarnes



Series: Sick Leave [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant (mostly?), Canon Untypical Lack of Worms, Coming Out, Fluff, M/M, Tea, The Beholding says Trans Rights!, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Transitioning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:40:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22741141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snuckybarnes/pseuds/snuckybarnes
Summary: Jon returns from America and Martin is out sick. He gets worried.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: Sick Leave [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1637413
Comments: 61
Kudos: 644





	Sick Leave

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea bouncing around in my head for quite a while and finally decided to write things down. I'm not a trans man myself, but I have several friends who are transitioning and I just wanted to share some soft thoughts about that I suppose.
> 
> Huge thanks to my dearest elliot who read it beforehand and gave me encouraging compliments! <3

It takes Jon a full day of being back in England, back at the Institute, before he realises Martin isn’t there. No one else seems to remark upon it though, and it makes him uneasy.

“Tim?” he tries, finally. “Have you seen Martin anywhere?”

“No.” The response is cold, as they always are from Tim these days. “He’s been home sick for about a week now. Maybe he worked out a way to stay away from the Institute, the lucky bastard.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

Tim just shrugs. “Dunno. Didn’t ask.”

“Well— Did you talk to him? Actually talk? Or just text?”

“I don’t. Know. It was a week ago, like I said.”

The accusations that begin to build in his throat surprise him, but Jon manages to keep them down. Antagonising Tim isn’t what he should be doing right now, and with a glare, he leaves him alone.

  
  


He can’t find Melanie, or Basira, or Daisy, and he doesn’t want to indebt himself to Elias in any way. And so the worry keeps building, until he finally remembers his phone.

 **10.42 To Martin Blackwood:** Tim said you were home sick. Are you alright?

He leaves it alone for a bit, because he has patience and self-control. But when there isn’t any response, he tries again.

 **10.57 To Martin Blackwood:** Just checking in. Everything okay?

 **10.58 To Martin Blackwood:** No worms keeping you locked away?

 **10.58 To Martin Blackwood:** Sorry, that was insensitibe.

 **10.58 To Martin Blackwood:** Insensitive*.

 **10.59 To Martin Blackwood:** Are you okay though?

He keeps himself occupied for about five more minutes until he tries to call Martin. No one picks up, of course.

After three more tries, he looks up Martin’s address and heads for the Underground.

  
  


When he finally stands outside Martin’s door, Jon has to restrain himself from pushing the doorbell more than once. There aren’t any monsters or worms outside the flat, so Martin isn’t being kept prisoner again. It should be enough to calm Jon’s nerves, but it isn’t, not fully.

His shoulders don’t sag in relief until he hears the padding of footsteps from behind the door, and until the door is pulled open to reveal Martin. His hair looks a bit greasy and his cardigan is buttoned up all askew, but he’s _alive_. Alive and rather confused.

“Jon? Wha— I thought you were in America?” The hand still not on the doorknob goes to his chest, feeling to make sure the buttons of his cardigan haven’t come undone.

“Clearly I came back.” The words come out far more irritable than Jon intended, and he shakes his head as if that would make them unsaid. “Doesn’t matter. You’re alright.”

Martin still looks confused, but manages a reassuring smile anyway. “Of course I’m alright. It’s only surgery.”

“Surgery?” Jon echoes. “Tim didn’t say anything about any surgery. Are you—?”

Martin glances over Jon’s shoulder, into the empty, echoing stairwell. Uncertainty passes over his face before he looks Jon in the eye again. “Would you like to come in? I could make tea?”

It’s not why he came, but Jon can’t deny the fact that he hasn’t had a good cup of tea since before he left for America. His lips twitch into a smile, and this time he makes sure his voice is soft. “I’d love that, Martin. Thank you.”

Martin just blinks at him for a moment, before stepping to the side to let Jon into the flat.

It’s small, and the kitchen is barely separated from the main room. Still, Martin walks over to the counter and puts the kettle on. There are a few mugs already on the counter, along with several tins of tea, and Martin sets to preparing a cup for each of them.

“I’m sorry for intruding,” Jon finally says. “It’s just— I came back and you weren’t at the Institute. Tim said you’d been on sick leave for about a week, but when I asked if he’d actually talked to you or if you’d just texted he couldn’t remember. Given that the last time you were on sick leave you were actually trapped here by Jane Prentiss, I had to check. And you weren’t answering any of my calls, so… Here I am.”

Martin glances at him over his shoulder. Jon thinks his cheeks look a bit pink. “You were worried about me?”

“ _Yes_ , Martin. Despite what some people seem to think, it’s an emotion I feel once in a while,” Jon huffs. His cheeks feel warm too.

Martin turns around. He winces a little and his hand clutches at his side, and Jon has to stop himself from trying to help. It isn’t his place. “Sorry for not answering. My phone died and I can’t really reach my charger. I technically could have just bought a new one, I guess, but it’s not like I’m gonna be immobilised for long and I honestly didn’t expect anyone to want something urgent. Thought I might do a—a digital detox, or something,” he adds, giving a little chuckle and having the decency to look sheepish.

Jon wants to say that of course someone might need to urgently get a hold of Martin, but he doesn’t know how to phrase that without making it awkward or weird like he does so much else. So he settles on something simpler. “What do you mean you can’t reach your charger? You’re one of the tallest people I know.”

Martin chuckles again. Jon has missed that sound. “Being tall doesn’t exactly help much when you can’t raise your arms more than this,” he says, holding his arms out in front of him, still with his elbows glued to his sides.

“Right. Surgery?”

“Yeah. While you’re here though, would you mind helping me out actually? My laptop bag, on the shelf by the door.”

Jon turns to look, and does indeed spot Martin’s black and blue messenger bag. He has to reach up with his hands above his head to grab it, but it doesn’t weigh much. Still, Martin looks weirdly happy to see Jon place it on the small kitchen table.

“Thanks. Digital detox isn’t as fun as I told myself it’d be.” He pours the now-boiled water into the mugs, slower and more careful than Jon thinks he’s seen him before, and then heads for the bag. He pulls out a charger, and crosses the room to plug his phone into the outlet.

“No problem,” Jon murmurs, watching Martin move around. There seems to be something...different to the shape of him, though Jon can’t put his finger on what. “Er...Martin?” he says eventually, an uncomfortable thought occurring to him.

“Yeah?”

“Are you… I mean… You’re not ill, are you?”

“Not that I know of?” Martin says, returning to the steeping tea.

“I just thought— With surgery and everything. And with you working at the Institute. You weren’t operated on because they had to remove an organ covered in eyeballs or anything?”

There silence hangs heavy between them, Martin staring with wide eyes. “ _What?_ ” he gets out, incredulous, before breaking into laughter. Giggles, really. “What, no, Jon, it’s just— ah—” he winces and clutches at his side again, “—it’s just top surgery, really. Nothing spooky.”

“Top—? Oh.” Jon’s cheeks heat up again, and he feels rather stupid.

After a moment or so, Martin sobers up, looking at Jon more carefully now. “Wait. Are you saying you didn’t know?”

“I’ve been away,” Jon defends himself. “And neither Tim nor anyone else was particularly forthcoming about your absence, so no.”

“Not about the surgery. Just you know, about me, in general. Being trans.” The words aren’t forced out, but they don’t seem to come effortlessly either.

“It’s not like you ever told me,” Jon mutters, crossing his arms and looking away. Martin giggles again, and it would be...cute, if it wasn’t at Jon’s expense.

“I’m pretty sure I did. I mean, I don’t talk about it a lot, but I must have mentioned it at some point?” Martin says, still giggling, still a bit incredulous. “And there’s a pin on my bag, too!”

Jon’s gaze follows to where Martin points, and lands on the little pin with its pastel stripes. He’s fairly certain he hasn’t seen it before. “That could have been for solidarity,” he objects, still muttering. He sighs, forcing his shoulders to relax even though he doesn’t uncross his arms. “Look, it doesn’t matter. I mean, it doesn’t make any difference. But you don’t need to laugh at me for not knowing.”

Martin’s giggles cease almost right away, replaced by a soft smile. “I’m not laughing at you, I promise. It’s just— I still don’t feel like I pass, a lot of the time? And I know, I know, that’s not the most important thing, but… The fact that you thought I did this whole time feels kind of amazing. And I might still be a little bit affected by my pain meds.” A small giggle comes through again. “You have to admit it’s kinda funny though, that even though it’s like your job to Know things, you had no idea about me? Beholding says trans rights, I guess.”

Jon stares at him, until finally a grin splits his lips and he uncrosses his arms. “The Beholding says trans rights,” he echoes. “And you know, for what it’s worth, I do too.”

Martin’s face goes that lovely shade of pink again, and Jon sees an almost giddy smile on his lips before he turns around to finish preparing their tea; a bit more honey for himself, a bit more milk for Jon. Once he’s done, he nods towards the table. “Please, sit down.”

Jon does, and Martin joins him with the two hot mugs. The steam alone is almost enough to make Jon melt. “Thank you, Martin,” he murmurs, wrapping his hands around the ceramic. His eyes land on the laptop bag, and without thinking, he reaches out to poke at the little pastel pin, spinning it in its spot. As he realises what he’s doing, he draws his hand back, clearing his throat. “Ahem. Anything… Anything else I’ve probably managed to miss?”

He risks a glance up at Martin, who looks at him so fondly Jon can’t help but feel guilty. Though for what, he cannot say. “Well…” Martin begins, looking up at some spot on the wall, “There was that time where Tim and I dated, but surely you know about that.”

He says it at the same time as Jon is taking a sip of his tea, and Jon manages to choke on it, burning the roof of his mouth.

“Oh god, Jon, are you alright?” Martin says, handing him a paper towel. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to— Oh shit. Are you okay?”

Jon coughs once, clearing his throat. The burn isn’t as bad as it could have been, and nowhere near as bad as it was to shake Jude Perry’s hand. “I’m fine,” he assures. “Just a bit surprised, is all.”

“I was _joking_ , Jon. Not—Not about asking if you’re alright, obviously not about that. But about me and Tim. Of _course_ I’ve never dated _Tim_.” Martin’s face is less pink now, and more red. “I don’t know why I said that.”

Jon clears his throat again, finally taking a proper sip of tea. It’s good. So, so good. “It didn’t seem...too improbable. He used to—flirt. A lot. Before… Before.”

“Well, yeah, but— Heh. You’ve seen Tim, and you’ve seen me. He’s so out of my league we barely even play the same sport.”

“I don’t know much about sports, really.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“Still, I— Don’t sell yourself short, Martin. You’re— If you _had_ been dating Tim, I wouldn’t have been surprised.” The thought of it does make his stomach twist a little bit though. He drinks his tea again, to replace the twist with the pleasant warmth. “This is really nice, you know. Couldn’t get it like this in America. Or by myself in general, really.”

“That’s because you’re either too impatient or too forgetful to get the timing right,” Martin points out, his voice gentle. “The way I make it isn’t special; you just have to learn how.”

“That’s not true.” He looks down at the cup in his hands, unable to meet Martin’s gaze. “Besides, I don’t need to learn if you’re around to make it for me.”

Martin lets out a tiny sound, that could have been a gasp or a whine. “W— Well. I’m not gonna be back at work for a few more weeks, at least, so you’ll kind of have to.”

“A few weeks?” Jon echoes, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He doesn’t even know when it got there.

“I mean, they literally cut chunks of me away. That takes a while to heal,” Martin says, his smile small and lopsided.

“Right, right. Of course. Sorry.”

“But,” Martin continues, dragging the word out, “if you’d like, you’re more than welcome to stop by for tea whenever you like until then. And after, too.”

Jon is apparently silent for too long, because Martin keeps going: “Was that too weird? That was probably too weird. Forget I said anything.”

Jon smiles in a way he hopes is reassuring. “It wasn’t weird. And I’d like to come over for tea, if it’s not too much of a bother. I can help you retrieve things from high surfaces too.”

Martin grins, lets out a short but genuine laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, you can. Thanks Jon.”

They keep drinking their tea, and it tastes even better when Jon knows there is much more to come in the future.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you liked it! This is my first Jonmartin fic, hopefully I got it somewhat right.


End file.
